Snow Day
by dwarrowlass
Summary: A standalone story taking place after Season 3, Episode 9. Some Guy silliness on a snowy day. Light romance - no professions of love, just good ol' fashioned smooching! : )
1. Chapter 1

A/N: this story takes place after Season 3, Episode 9: A Dangerous Deal. Guy has fled from his sister and jail. Here's one possibility for what could have happened next – I'm not sure what does, since I'm saving the next episode for a treat after I finish this standalone story! : ) But why not satisfy his urge for another nice girl?

I think it's hard to write about redeeming Guy without slipping into full-on melodrama angst, but one of the things that makes BBC's Robin Hood so fun is that there's always a note of humor and glee. So I tried to keep this one light!

…

"Are you really going out there?" Alys asked. She was nominally the laundry-maid, but with the state of affairs and the Master being in France as he is, she sat in the kitchen as proud as you please drinking boiled coffee with the cook.

But she's not a bad sort, Alys. "Yes," I said firmly, and she shivered.

"Brr! Better have a hot brick, then. I'll pop one on the fire while you harness the pony."

"Thank you," I said, smiling at her through the furry collar of my cloak, pulled up high. "I don't expect there'll be much to the marketing, but I'll see if I can't find some tea."

"Tea," she and Cook breathed together, as if praying. We had laid in the summer preserves and done the winter slaughtering as usual, and we had more than enough firewood what with the men clearing the East Field, but the Master hadn't restocked the tea before going abroad and we were all aching for a cup.

The Hilcote market was unlikely to offer such a precious import even on a good day. Now, with eight inches of snow blown up overnight, I'd be lucky to find a poor lavender-seller abroad. But I had promised to visit my sister and my brother-in-law and their new baby, and received permission for use of the pony-trap, and days off aren't so common that God's blown down a storm yet that would keep me from my little holiday.

He blew down something else instead.

I nearly screamed when I saw the body in the stable, he was so cold and dead-looking. A man dressed in black all-over lay curved in Mandy's stall. He must have stumbled in search of warmth and shelter in the sudden blizzard. His hands were curled into fists at his chest, seeking heat but not finding it, and the hollows of his cheeks and eyes were lavender-grey. Mandy whickered gently, seeming not at all disturbed at finding such a creature in her nice clean straw.

I dropped the bit I had been going to feed her and knelt by the stranger's side. "Sir?" I said. He didn't move. "Sir?" He stirred a little, and gratefully I reassumed my mitten, glad not to have to seek a pulse on such a dirty, chancy-looking fellow. I flew back to the Big House – my footsteps were already filling with drifting snow, but the sun was rising and illuminating a crystal sky – a beautiful day for a ride in a pony-cart, with the flakes blowing from the trees and into my hair like little specks of diamond. By God's thumbs, a thing like this _would _happen on my day off! I thought. I ran nearly the whole quarter-mile back, the deep fluffy snow dragging at my feet.

I entered through the kitchen and Alys turned from stooping on the hearth with a smile and a hot brick wrapped in cloth. "Here we are, nice and toasty!"

"Thank you, Alys," I said, huffing and puffing rather. "Save it for the man."

"What man?"

"There's a man dying in the stable."

"Dear God!" Roger and Wulf had joined them in the kitchen, and they jumped up, good strapping boys both.

"Thank goodness," I addressed them. "I can't move him myself, he's a big fellow. No cloak or anything, but he's not dressed like a tramp! Do you think Fenwick will have him in the house?"

"Better make it the back storeroom," Wulf said firmly, draining his coffee and wiping his mouth. "Fenwick can't object to him there. We cleared out the last of the goods a sennight past and there's the fireplace for smoking meat. Alys, lay the fire and heat some water; cook, find the bath. We'll thaw 'im like a turkey. Roger and me'll fetch him in."

I followed them, fussing like a skittish mare. "Where he could have come from, I don't know – for there's nobody coming from Blackwell or Hilcote, or he'd have known about the Big House – walking all night by the look of him! Ooh, the Master won't like it if he dies in the storeroom!" Finally Roger, a nice lad but silent, gave me a quelling look and I reined myself in hand.

The stranger hadn't moved when we returned. Neither had Mandy. I gave her a wrinkled apple to sooth her after her traumatic experience, not that she seemed to mind much either way, while the men heaved the stranger up by his shoulders and ankles and carried him back up the track. I poked around in the straw but he had no possessions I could find. Soon I followed them.

I came across a busy group in the back storeroom. There was a healthy blaze alight in the big fireplace, thanks to Alys, and Cook was carrying two buckets of gently steaming water in her brawny arms to add to the half-full tub. Roger and Wulf still held the man aloft while Wulf argued with Fenwick. Fenwick was twittering like a hen. "No strangers in the house while Master's away! He won't _like _it!"

"God won't like it if we let him perish!" Wulf roared. "Be charitable, man!"

"And he wouldn't have to know," Alys added, reasonably.

Meanwhile Cook continued to fill the tub like some kindly Titan.

"But you're needed! The snow's risen high enough that the sheep have fled their enclosure, and you women have duties!" Fenwick's color was rising.

"It's my day off," I said, sighing inwardly. "I'll see to him."

Fenwick turned on me and threw his hands up. "Fine!" he said. "On your head be it! But I want him out by morning!" Alys rolled her eyes where he couldn't see.

"We'll need to undress him for the bath," I said doubtfully.

"Well, I need the men to find and bring back the sheep," Fenwick said, puffing himself up. "You'll have to do it."

"Me!" I was scandalized. "But – but – he's a man!"

"_Fine!_ Roger and Wulf, see to it, and the rest of you lot, _back to work. _Men,I'll see you in the back field in ten minutes with the dogs or I'll know why not."

Cook placed her next round of full buckets by the fire and departed. Alys followed, squeezing my hand lightly for encouragement. "Good luck," she whispered. "I'll send some fresh clothes." Fenwick strutted after them.

I waited outside the door of the storeroom, taking the opportunity to divest myself of my winter garments. I heard some grunting and muttered directions as Wulf and Roger worked together to get the strange man out of his things and into the tub. Finally there was a gentle splash. "Can I come in?" I called.

"Almost," Wulf answered. He opened the door and took a coarse dishcloth from a shelf beside me. The stranger was lolling naked and unconscious in the tin bath, and I quickly looked away. Wulf draped the cloth over the bottom half of the tub, screening most of the man from view – well, the parts that counted. "There you are." He and Roger marched out, looking sorry. "He's pretty far gone – not too well-fed lately, by the looks of him, and the cold has taken its due. We must accept whatever God has in store for him."

"Thank you," I said, not really all that grateful for the depressing speech.

They nodded and left, and I stepped inside. The little room was very warm. The stranger's head rested on the edge of the bath at an awkward angle, and his pale skin clearly showed the marks of bruises and cuts. His clothes made a depressing little heap to one side. They were dark, dirty and tattered. His boots, however, placed neatly together at the foot of the bath, were of good quality.

The makeshift towel blocked his lower body from view. The water was already becoming begrimed, dirt loosening from his skin and floating to the surface, so I had to fish for his arm and hand and raise them from the water to see. A violent color was returning to his fingertips as his blood awakened. "You'll make it," I judged. "Please don't waste my time." I dropped his arm with a small splash.

His hair was long, greasy and tangled, and I cast a suspicious eye over it, not overly desirous of lice. "Wait here," I instructed the inert form. "And don't drown while I'm away."

I ran back through the front storeroom, the stillroom and the kitchen, where true to her word Alys had left a bundle of clothes nicked from the laundry. Some trousers of the Master's that he'd left for mending, a shirt that was of some common weave but thick and clean, and good wool socks. I hoped they'd fit. The man had strong, round shoulders, and there weren't many working at the Big House who were as broad and tall. I gathered them along with a wooden comb and a pair of shears.

He lay where I left him, but a healthier color had returned to his lips and cheeks. I checked his hand again. His pulse was beating steadily and there was no evidence of frostbite on his fingers. His feet would have to look after themselves.

I gingerly straightened his head so that his hair fell over the edge. Then, feeling like the Master's little daughter playing with one of her dollies, I began to comb it through. Whenever I found a tangle I couldn't comb, I cut. Then I went around and evened it all out. I'm not exactly a fashionable lady's maid, so the resulting fringe was ragged, but neat and clean. Instead of falling almost to his shoulders, it was cropped to his chin, revealing the back of his thick neck. I swept aside the trimmings to be burnt later, as I don't like the smell.

It was when I was leaning over him to comb the hair back from his forehead that he woke up.

It must have been confusing for the poor fellow – waking up partly underwater, with an upside-down stranger frowning in concentration at him and holding a big pair of scissors. It didn't help that he's one of those sudden wakers – no fluttering eyelashes, just pow! Awake! I was startled too! "What is this?" he bellowed, and his arm shot out to grab me.

That it, his arm would have shot out, but his muscles were too stiff from their ordeal. I batted his slow grab away easily. "Steady on!" I said. "You're alright! Easy now! You're safe."

Honestly, I had almost forgotten my dolly was a person, so still and limp had he been. So I wasn't what you'd call prepared, conversationally. Luckily the man subsided. "Where am I?" he asked, his blue eyes darting around the storeroom. "Who are you?"

"I'm Michaela," I said soothingly. "I'm the under-housekeeper for Brock Manor, several miles from Hilcote. I found you in the stable here."

"How dare you hold me here – what are you doing?" he demanded.

"Oh, just making ungrateful-stranger-soup," I retorted. He struggled to rise. "No, don't –"

Too late. I turned around quickly as he braced his strong arms on the side of the bath and pushed himself upright. From the corner of my eye I saw him make a grab for the falling cloth. Still from the corner – I swear – I saw that it wasn't quite doing the job.

"I'm naked!"

I had turned away with one hand held up to block the view, and I spluttered with laughter, sounding near-strangled with hilarity to my own ears. "Oh, are you? Oh goodness me I hadn't noticed!" I flapped my hand to the buckets still steaming by the fire – luckily on the far side of the tub. "There's fresh water if you want to rinse."

I could tell he was bending by the shadow he cast, and he rose with one bucket and poured the contents over his head, roaring and spluttering in the deluge. The empty bucket clanged as he threw it aside. "And clothes," I added. I held my hand up to my eyes again, cupping the side of my face, and kept my face turned away while I handed him the packet.

I heard the slap-slap of his bare feet on the floor, one after the other, as he stepped from the tub. His hand, warm and still a little damp, brushed mine, and I dropped the clothes hastily.

"Right," I said. "Well. Good. You…put those on. I'll return with some food." I curveted around him and walked backwards to the door, my head still turned awkwardly aside.

"Michaela?"

I stopped and looked at him, from pure habit. Luckily he had made it into the breeches, though they were full almost to overflowing with bulging thigh muscles, and was lacing himself into the shirt. Standing, he was well over six feet fall.

"Thank you," he said reluctantly.

"You'll find your hair in the corner!" I squeaked incoherently, and fled.

…

"Oooh, is he dead?" Alys breathed, poking her head out from the laundry. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair frizzed with steam.

"No!" I said. "He's awake!"

Cook grunted impassively, but she filled a bowl liberally with good meaty stew.

"Oo-er, who is he? Where's he from? Is he handsome?"

"I don't know, I don't know, and Alys, you saw him as well as I!" I filled a beaker with warm mead while Cook sliced some new bread.

"Only with his clothes on!"

"_Alys! _I didn't see anything! I just looked once he was dressed!" Cook rolled her eyes. She is a wonderful woman, a veritable mountain, silent and kind, who uses her impatience with our twittering as a way to hide her massive gentle heart.

"He'll be wanting this now," she said, her resonant voice as always sweeter than you'd expect.

"Thank you." I took the tray from her and settled my beaker and his upon in. "Though I will say – he fills the Master's breeches better than the Master does!"

"I didn't mean it like that!" I called over my shoulder, as Alys's hooting laugh and even the Cook's slow gentle chuckle chased me out of the kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

The man was standing awkwardly in the center of the room. I realized belatedly there was nowhere for him to sit, but at least he was fully dressed. He had even made some attempt, I think, at styling his hair – at least it was swept back from his face, with fresh comb-tracks marking it. I halted at the threshold. "Hmm," I said. "This won't do." I settled the tray on the ground, and returned in a moment, dragging a keg that used to hold salt pork.

He reached forward to help and almost toppled over. "Hold on!" I said, catching him by one shoulder and propping him up while he recovered from his dizziness. He was bent over me and luckily showed no signs of really falling, for he'd probably squash me flat. Finally his eyes refocused. He realized he was looking almost straight down my gown and went red. I thought it was rather sweet. Not that there was anything to see – I was dressed for winter travel, and underneath my gown I had a thick long-sleeved shift and two pairs of hose, but it was still sweet.

I helped him get settled on the empty keg and sat cross-legged beside it. "Can you feed yourself?" I asked, and he gave me a look that was part scornful and part funny. "Don't get uppity!" I cautioned him, and placed the tray on his lap, rescuing my own beaker first.

I sipped my mead while he ate, at first cautiously and then ravenously. He hesitated before breaking open the brown bread. "Eat," I urged him. "It's just simple food, but there's plenty of it."

He tore it piece off and the steam wafted out. He paused for a moment, breathing deep, and resumed eating, now more methodically, like a soldier, using the bread to clean the remains of the stew from his bowl.

I returned with a fresh bowl of stew and sat again. He approached this one more slowly. Finally, he asked, "Where did you say this was?"

"Brock Manor, near Hilcote. In Bolsover."

"And what is the name of my host?"

"Oh the master's away." I rolled my eyes. "These two months at least. Nothing would do but to go to France for the winter, and at the drop of the hat! Half the staff went with him and the rest stayed here, looking after the house and lands. But I suppose it would be Fenwick. He's the steward and he said you could stay. Just the night, he said, but we'll work him round." It did not escape my notice that the stranger ate steadily throughout my speech. It's been some time since he had his last three squares, I thought. "You're not fit to travel yet. And anyway the county's snowed under!"

This gave him pause. "And how far are we from Nottingham?"

"Oh, these 15 miles north at least! And anyway, you don't want to go to Nottingham – they have a cow for a sheriff!"

He nearly choked on his stew. "It's true! They say Prince John was visiting, and for a lark, he hired a cow. Mind you," I rambled, "The one before that tried to kill him, I've heard told. Not that I'd blame him. Such a face that Prince has! Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. We're looked after here, but there's some who'd starve so he could have his latest trinket. And King Richard, always travelling somewhere exotic, going to catch a fever as like as not or get scuppered by an infidel, and his puny brother's all we'll have left! I don't think much of the Royal Family," I finished. "I'm sorry, I do go on. What's your name?"

He chewed his bread for longer than strictly necessary. "It's…Guy."

"Are you sure?" He looked a little ashamed, maybe because he couldn't come up with one better. I propped my chin on my fists. "Nevermind, it's your business," I said. "You chose a hard road. You must have had your reasons."

He downed his mead glass before answering. "Yes," he said at last. Then suddenly, some animus seeming to have reentered his body with the hearty meal, he kneeled beside me. He took my hands and I was surprised at the strength in his grip. "Michaela," he said earnestly. "Do you believe people can be saved?"

I made a _moue_ at him. "No, I brought you here because I had nothing better to do on my day off."

He was already shaking his head. "No, I mean – their souls. Do you believe people can be redeemed? And at what cost? How many have to die?" he asked, quietly, almost to himself.

"I believe everybody can be redeemed," I said. Truthfully I hadn't thought about it much, and his face – yes, Alys, it was handsome, and his eyes were a pale blue that was quite striking – was close to mine, his gaze fixed on me. It didn't lead easily to rational thought. His voice, too, was deep and stirring. It had a noble quality, despite being rough with lack of use. Even in homespun garments there was something lordly in his bearing. I was beginning to suspect I knew our guest's identity. "God has seen so many sins. I think it's hubris, to believe we could surprise Him with ours. And he's forgiven everyone who's asked for it. People do bad things for good reasons sometimes – or good things for bad reasons – but we're all just striving to live. And if we can do that, and find happiness without hurting others, we've achieved heaven on earth. And if we can't, we can always try tomorrow."

It was not the best thought-out philosophy, but he seemed to devour it as he had the stew. And then he leaned forward – surprisingly timidly – and kissed me.

I wouldn't think a strange man kissing me on the storeroom floor would have been so nice, but his strong arms felt as safe as houses, and he seemed to find comfort and pleasure in our embrace. I quite liked it, now he was clean. His breath was honeyed from the mead. I was looking for more when he broke away.

He placed his hands on the side of my face. "Thank you," he growled, a sincere light in his eyes. My stomach fair tied itself into knots. He rose and drew me to my feet. "I must leave. I'm a danger to you here."

"Noo," I said, sounding like a disappointed child. "Stay the night, at least." Ooh, my heart thumped when I said it. Was I being too bold?

He smiled at me softly, and a little bit sadly. "I can't," he said.

"At least take a cloak, and some gloves – we'll find you some. You'll freeze out there. And what about your clothes? They're still wet –"

"Burn them," he said firmly. "Leave no evidence I was here." He caressed my face and sunk his fingers in my hair. "You, at least, I can keep safe from harm."

I discreetly didn't mention the lack of any danger, because I quite liked the way this felt. He kissed me burningly once again, and I melted in his arms. I trailed after him through the front storeroom and the stillroom, where he snatched kisses on each threshold, and then through the kitchen. Alys fetched him a cloak and a scarf from the laundry and he kissed her hand gravely in thanks. He did the same to Cook when she handed him a bundle of supplies, warm to the hand with the fresh bread it contained.

He paused at the door to the outside. "My thanks to all of you," he said burningly. "You have given me a chance to save myself, and hopefully – others as well." He bowed deeply, and then casting an eye at the setting sun, oriented himself facing south. I stepped outdoors after him.

He gathered me into his arms, under the cloak, and in our own little world, we kissed again. His told me everything – his gratitude, his reluctance to go, his rekindled hope. He was an awfully good kisser. Finally I went indoors to the less-exciting warmth of the kitchen, and he strode away, hunching his shoulders against the wind and not looking back. I watched long after his figure disappeared, until even his footsteps blew away.

Soon Roger and Wulf tramped into the kitchen, shedding coats and rubbing their hands together. "Brr!" Wulf said. "We got the bloody sheep back, at least. What's for dinner? And where's the stranger, then?"

Alys chirped, "He's Michaela's _sweetheart!"_Cook just shook her head and smiled.

"He's gone," I said dreamily. "I don't think he's coming back." I smiled to myself, thinking of the lock of hair I had saved.

"Who was he then?"

"I don't know," I murmured, sinking to my seat at the table in a reverie.

"You better not be like this all the time from now on," Cook said grumpily.

"You never did get to go to Hilcote!" Alys exclaimed. Roger shook his head.

Wulf poured himself some hot mead. "Ah, she can go to Hilcote anytime. It's not every day you can save a fellow. Though a fine way he has of saying thank you, just walking off! Well, Fenwick will be pleased," he added, a little disgusted.

I just let it all wash over me, a smile that I hoped looked tender and mysterious and not moon-struck and gawpish lingering on my lips. I could still taste his kiss, and I felt the curl of hair in my pocket, where I had fastened it with a small pin. His clothes smoldered on the storeroom fire, turning to ash. These were the only remembrances that he had ever been to Brock Manor. I didn't speak.

Who would ever believe that I met Robin Hood?


End file.
